THOUGH JUST A DAY PAST ITS SELL-BY, IT DOES SMELL A BIT IFFY.

Hovis Wholemeal Granary. A poetic assessment

Hovis went in.
Rightly chastised that their Best of Both wasn’t anything of the sort
they have come back.
Hard.

Hovis Wholemeal Granary is so heavy
your bowels start preparing a rock solid shit while you’re still buttering.
They should have just called it Pandemic, and had done with it.

This bread is some archaic, backdated, prison tattoo on the face-type shit
with no rightful place in this wifi coffee shop world in which we live.
This is bread to threaten your kid with
bread targeted at men who lift Atlas stones and pull locomotives

This bread is the opposite of Drake
equivalent to your Bavarian grandmother’s Christmas cake
whatever density this bread is,
it’s the only loaf you could tie to a dead body and send to the bottom of a lake

This bread is like looking at monumental brutalist architecture and saying you don’t like it.
Think it gives a fuck what you think?

This bread is not palatable, but try arguing with it.
In fact, don’t try arguing with it.
Unless you are seven-time World’s Strongest Man finalist,
Terry Hollands, from Dartford, Kent, that is.

Otherwise, we need lads in the supermarket
with loud hailers and high-visibility jackets, going,
“Step away from the bread. Step away from the bread.
“Please, for the love of yeast, step away from the bread.”

Score out of 10?
I give it 200% out of 100%.

Terry Hollands, the ideal Hovis Wholemeal Granary man

Word to the wise, Drake. You are not built for the Hovis Wholemeal Granary. Your lyrics strongly suggest you should stick to the bloomer.